


We're Looking Good As Gold

by xCrossbonesx (StarSpangledBucky)



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Olympics, Angst, Australian!Jack, Explicit Sexual Content, Fandom Trumps Hate 2019, Figure Skater!Brock, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pining, Smut, hockey player!jack
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-21
Updated: 2020-04-21
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:20:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23767588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarSpangledBucky/pseuds/xCrossbonesx
Summary: In which, Brock attends the Olympics in Vancouver, in hopes of clinching the gold medal as a men's singles figure skater. With obstacles in the way, Grant Ward's mixed messages and a whirlwind of anxiety, it seems too far from his reach. And then there's Jack Rollins, the captain of the Canadian ice hockey team, who becomes his biggest hurdle, but his greatest reward..."Nothing beats the gold medal more than being with you..."
Relationships: Bruce Banner/Thor, Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov, Implied Brock Rumlow/Grant Ward, Jack Rollins/Brock Rumlow, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, Original Male Character/Original Male Character, Riley/Sam Wilson, Tony Stark/Stephen Strange
Kudos: 10





	We're Looking Good As Gold

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kalika999 (kalika_999)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kalika_999/gifts).



> So here we are, the beginning of my auction fic for Fandom Trumps Hate 2019 for my pal Candace (kalika999). This is VERY late, and I am very sorry for that (like a bloody year too late lol). But I know this idea was the one you were excited for the most, and I hope you enjoy what I've got done for your thus far. Chapter two is getting planned as I type this, fingers crossed I can get it out as quick as I can. What with all this hell happening in 2020, am I right? 
> 
> Love you muchies! <3
> 
> Title from Good As Gold by Moon Taxi

* * *

Brock’s head ached, _throbbed_ even from the lack of sleep during his flight, and the remnants of a fading flu. He never was one to fall asleep on a plane, too much noise from the roar of the engine, plus Hamish’s snoring. Of all the people he had to sit with, it had to be Hamish, who snored like a buzzsaw, as well as someone who took up more room than Brock. His big, muscular arms were taking up most of that space, Brock didn't blame him though, he needed to have that strength for playing hockey. Either way, Hamish was still one of Brock's closest and dearest friends, it would take a lot more than snoring to break their bond. 

Luckily for him, their plane had landed in Vancouver, drawing Hamish out of his sleep as he stretched his arms up above his head. Brock knew he’d surely have to take a nap before going to practice on the rink with Bucky. He looked over at the middle row seats to see Bucky waking up, before gently prodding Sam in the arm, who was sleeping beside him. If he was the only one who didn’t catch any rest he was going to be pissed, although, maybe Bucky would be okay with him having a nap for an hour. There was no way that he was going to be tired throughout the biggest moment of his life, the Olympics. Nothing made his body vibrate with excitement more than the thought of competing at something he’d dreamt of all his life. 

“Sleep well?”

Hamish’s voice sounded rough when he spoke. 

“Not really, I had a big Scotsman sleepin’ next to me. Who just happens to snore,” Brock replied.

Hamish smirked.

“Sorry pal, didnae mean tae keep ye awake.”

“It’s fine, I’ll try to squeeze in a nap before trainin’ with Bucky,” he said.

He felt Hamish’s hand rest on the back of his head, as his friend leant forward and planted a kiss on his cheek, over the top sound effects concluded.

“Does that make up fir it?” Hamish asked.

Brock scrunched his nose up.

“Not when you have garlic breath. How much did you eat with your dinner!”

Hamish laughed loudly.

“As much as I bloody well fancied,” he chuckled.

“What are you two idiots yellin’ about?” Bucky called, from his seat.

“Hamish is tryin’ to murder me with his stank breath.”

Bucky grimaced.

“Garlic breath?” he questioned.

“Brock’s like a bear wi’ a sore arse ‘cause he didnae sleep.”

Brock frowned.

“Thanks Hames,” he grumbled.

Bucky let out a snort.

“It’s alright hun, you can have a nap before trainin’.”

Brock’s hands fell over his chest.

“I love you babe.”

“You three are weird as hell man,” Sam commented. “In a good way,” he added.

Bucky smiled proudly.

“Damn right.”

Sam and Bucky delved into a conversation of their own again, as Brock turned his attention back to Hamish, flashing him a faint smile.

“How you feelin’ about bein’ here?”

Hamish’s lips spread into a thin line.

“Wee bit nervous. First time they’ve mixed up a bunch of lads fae all over to make a team fir Canada. I’m nervous about the others meetin’ the captain. I was the only one that went to meet him.”

“Is he nice?” Brock queried.

“Oh aye, very friendly. He cannae wait tae see who he’s got as a team. He seems like one of the quiet types though, unless ye get a drink in him, he was very chatty,” Hamish explained.

Brock snorted.

“You could make anyone talk with your charisma,” he stated.

Hamish grinned widely.

“Thank you, my sweet,” he drawled.

“You should invite him to our little welcome party that's happening later tonight." 

Brock was beginning to feel somewhat curious as to who Jack was, suggesting that he join in on their friend circle wouldn't do much harm. _Could it?_

“Aye, that sounds grand. Ye sound curious though.”

Brock's mouth curled into a smile. 

“Not jealous are you?” 

Hamish narrowed his eyes slightly.

“Me? Never.” 

“Don't worry, you're always numero uno,” Brock murmured. 

“Oh? Is that right? Maybe ye can prove it by buyin' me dinner," Hamish huffed.

Brock laughed. 

“Is that all you want, food?” he scoffed.

Hamish's eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled.

“Food is always the way tae my heart. You should know that. Promise I'll buy ye all the fancy cocktails ye want," he assured him.

Brock smirked, as he bumped his shoulder against Hamish's.

“I'll come find you later for dinner." 

Hamish hummed.

“I'm lookin’ forward tae it. Feel like I barely saw ye over the summer when hockey was done for the season." 

Brock tilted his head to the side to look at Hamish, smiling warmly. 

“Likewise, got a lot to catch up on pal.” 

“Anyway I'm burstin’ fir a pish, I'll be back,” Hamish said.

“Ugh, you've got no shame,” Brock griped, leaning back in his seat and slapping his hand across his face.

After Hamish had left, Bucky appeared at Brock's side, as he slid into the seat beside him.

“I know that look...you two were scheming?” 

Brock rolled his eyes.

“We were organising dinner,” he answered.

Bucky sighed.

“That's fine, the rest of us didn't want to join in." 

Brock chuckled at Bucky's poor attempt at a hurt expression.

“You can join us, dumbass.” 

“I know, I'm just kidding,” Bucky chided.

Brock sighed wistfully, trying to exude the same amount of joking dramatics that Bucky was pulling.

“And here I thought Hamish and I were just havin' a romantic dinner for two.” 

Bucky smirked.

“Make sure none of the others in his hockey team know then, they might get jealous,” he teased, whilst wiggling his eyebrows.

“Get outta’ my face, when are we gettin’ off this damn plane, I want to sleep,” Brock grumbled.

“People are leaving now so I’m assuming we can go now.” 

Brock sighed contently.

“Thank fuck, I was startin’ to fall asleep in this seat,” he muttered.

“And I’d leave you here.”

Bucky laughed at the frown Brock gave him.

“Of course you would, ya’ dick.”

“At least I’m truthful, c’mon, let’s get inside so we can get our luggage, and you can sleep,” Bucky said.

“I’ll grab Hamish’s carry on for him.”

“How sweet,” the brunette cooed.

“Fuck off asshole,” Brock huffed.

Brock swung his duffel bag over his shoulder, while holding Hamish’s backpack in his free hand. He followed Bucky down to the front of the plane, where the stewardess was standing to farewell the passengers. Hamish timed his exit perfectly, waiting to meet the pair by the door, with his hands tucked into his pockets.

“Aw pumpkin ye shouldn't have,” he said, as he took the backpack from Brock.

Bucky snorted,

“Such a charmer huh?” 

Hamish laughed, clearly amused by the antics.

“Oh aye, real dreamboat.” 

Brock rolled his eyes in response, as they stepped out of the plane and walked down onto the tarmac. 

“You two are the worst. You always gang up on me,” he groused.

He followed the other passengers towards the terminal, droning out most of Bucky and Hamish's conversation, in favour of looking down at his phone. There were several texts from his family, mostly his dad, step-dad, sister and brothers. But there was also the odd one from his nonna, which made Brock chuckle a little at the thought of his nonna trying to use a mobile phone. However, she was his biggest supporter when he announced that he was going to do figure skating as a career. She was there when he got the call that he'd made it to the Olympics, telling him how proud she was of her grandson. Brock wouldn't be where he was today without her. 

A small part of him hoped his mom would at least wish him luck, despite their differences. She wasn't overly supportive of his choice to be a professional figure skater, thinking it was a huge mistake. But Brock had been skating on ice since he was eight, the ice was his life, yet most of all his safe space. Whenever he felt down, he'd go on the closest ice rink, then skate for hours to his own music on his phone. He'd begged her once to try to understand, but Caterina was incredibly stubborn, a trait which Brock himself had now and again. But he should've known better, there would be no pleasing her, which was something he couldn't fix. 

Brock pocketed his phone as they entered the terminal, his hands fitting snugly in the pockets of his jacket, given that they felt a little cold. He couldn’t believe the amount of people that were there for the Olympics, spread out across several different conveyors at the baggage claim, most of them from fairly recent flights. Brock started to wonder if any of his other figure skating friends were there, friends he’d made through other figure skating competitions that were done internationally. The Olympics however was the big one, he was competing for his home country, for Italy, not just for himself as a figure skater. He couldn’t wait for the official opening of the figure skating, where he would do a performance with Bucky, one they’d been practicing for, for months. 

“Woah, look at all these people,” Bucky spoke up.

“I know, I wonder who’s here already.”

“Well, I’ve spotted someone I need tae see, so I’ll catch up wi’ ye both later,” Hamish interjected.

“See ya later Hames.”

Hamish winked at Brock, before disappearing through a group of passengers coming in the opposite direction. Brock turned back to glance up at the screens for their flight number, so he knew which conveyor to wait at to collect his luggage. Bucky sidled up beside him and put his hand on Brock's shoulder, as they glanced at each other, smiling widely.

“We made it,” he said.

“We sure did buddy,” Brock replied.

He wrapped his arm around the brunette's waist, then pulled him in for a warm hug, their duffels discarded by their feet. Brock's eyes started watering when Bucky gripped Brock tighter, knowing well enough that his friend was feeling the same emotions as he was. Both of them had met during a regional figure skating competition when they were younger, Bucky was new to the game, so Brock took him under his wing. They became fast friends after it, and not a thing had changed since then, Bucky was somebody Brock could rely on, always. 

“You're makin’ me tear up, you ass.”

Brock laughed wetly.

“I'm just real proud of ya, kid,” he murmured.

Bucky pulled back, while wiping the corners of his eyes.

“I'm proud of you too. I always believed in you, and now you're here for your first Olympics.” 

Brock smiled, then reached out to cup the back of Bucky's head.

“And we’re gonna’ have the time of our lives doing it.” 

“I can’t wait to go on this journey with ya’ pal,” Bucky chimed.

Brock’s gaze moved to look over Bucky’s shoulder, noticing someone walking over to them, his eyes softening as soon as he realised who it was. 

“Hey, someone’s comin’ over to see you.”

The brunette peered over his shoulder, before turning completely to see Steve holding his arms out to him.

“Steve!” he exclaimed.

The pair engaged a tight embrace, as Steve spun Bucky around in his arms, laughing happily after Bucky had practically leapt into his arms. Brock smiled slightly, then looked away to give the couple some privacy, deciding to glance back down at his phone. His little brother, Gino, was still messaging him every ten minutes, asking if he made it to Vancouver, along with a multitude of other questions. Brock shook his head with a chuckle and fired off some quick replies to him, to assure him they’d made it safely, as well as promising him that he’d call in a few hours. Part of him wished he was meeting someone, other than his friends who were competing, his family would be a preferred choice. He didn’t have a significant other after all, hadn’t for a few years, at least...nothing serious to warrant a proper relationship. However, it did still make him miss having a _real_ connection with someone.

“Hey Brock,” Steve greeted, grasping Brock’s shoulder.

Brock jumped a little from being startled, before relaxing when he saw Steve smiling back at him, his blue eyes bright and happy.

“Hey Steve, how you doin’ man?” he asked.

Steve smiled wider.

“Great, real excited to be here. What about you? We haven’t seen each other in a couple of years,” he said.

“Y’know, same old. Been in Italy for awhile, stayin’ with the family. My little brother got married two months ago. Other than that nothin’ else has happened, except for being accepted for the Olympics,” Brock answered.

“It’s crazy right? I can’t believe we’re here. Actually, I can’t believe Buck’s here too.”

Bucky smirked.

“Aw, Steve.”

Brock nodded and pressed his lips into a thin line.

“Hey he deserves it. He’s worked hard, I have a good feelin’ he’ll win gold.”

Bucky scoffed.

“Stop Brock, I know for sure you’re gonna’ earn that gold. You’re a beautiful skater.”

He didn’t often blush, but flattery was a bit of a weakness for Brock.

“Jesus sweetheart, out of everyone you could make blush, I never thought it’d be Brock,” Steve chided.

“You’re a dick, Steve,” Brock sniped, jokingly.

Steve chuckled loudly.

“Well, look what the cat dragged in.”

Suddenly, a pair of arms wrapped around Brock’s waist from behind, squeezing him gently.

“Hey handsome."

Brock rolled his eyes when Clint rested his chin on the other’s shoulder.

“Barton...should’ve known it was you,” he uttered.

“That’s not a nice way to greet me. Did you ever love me?” he whispered, in an attempt to sound dramatic.

Bucky looked almost ready to burst with laughter, but instead muffled it by leaning into Steve’s chest. Clint snorted and planted a kiss on Brock’s cheek, then let go so he could stand by Brock’s side, just as Natasha arrived to stand on the other side. Brock greeted her with a kiss on both cheeks, along with a hug, before Natasha wiped lipstick marks off Brock’s face.

“Nat? I didn’t know you were comin’.”

“I was so busy preparing I didn’t have time to share the news. I’m competing in the couple’s skating, with Thor Odinson,” she replied.

“Woah, _the_ Thor Odinson?” Bucky gasped.

“The one and only,” Natasha chimed.

“I envy you Nat.”

“Do you want to come over and meet him?” she offered.

“No! I mean...I would, but I don't want to bother him and-” 

Steve clapped his hand over Bucky's mouth before he rambled any further.

“Buck, calm down. Go and meet him, you'll be fine.” 

Bucky exhaled deeply, then glanced over at Nat.

“Yeah, I'll be fine, let’s go.” 

Nat took Bucky by the hand to guide him through the crowd, leaving Clint, Steve and Brock to chat. 

“So, what's been happening huh? I feel like I've probably missed out on things since the last time we got together was for Nat’s birthday in Spain,” Clint said.

Steve shrugged languidly.

“Not too much, well, I got injured and had to have four weeks of no hockey. So I spent time with my family mostly, then Bucky came to visit before he had to go to Romania and see his grandma, she's not well at the moment. This is the first time I've seen him since then, four months.” 

Clint shook his head.

“I can't stand a few weeks without Nat. She just...keeps me grounded really. How the hell do you do that man?” he questioned.

“A lot of patience, and love. I'm actually thinkin’ of askin’ Buck to move in with me.” 

Brock beamed.

“Shit, he'll be really happy about that. Congrats.” 

Clint nudged Brock.

“He still has to say yes first!” 

“If anyone knows Bucky, it's me, he'll say yes,” Brock huffed out.

Steve flashed him a shy grin.

“I hope so,” he chimed.

“Since we’re sharing news, I have some.”

Brock and Steve stared at Clint with curiosity in their eyes.

“Nat and I are going to try for a kid after the Olympics,” he breathed out.

Brock’s eyes widened.

“Are you serious?” he asked.

Clint nodded.

“Congratulations man, holy shit. I’m happy for both of you!”

Steve opened his arms wide.

“Group hug?”

Brock cheered happily as he yanked Clint into a hug, before Steve wrapped his arms around both of them, squeezing them tightly against him. Clint winced and patted both Steve and Brock on the back, his face squished on Steve’s broad chest.

“Ugh, can’t breathe.”

“Sorry,” Steve snorted, before loosening his grip slightly.

“That’s better, thanks bud.”

“Jeez, good news after good news. Could it get any better?” Brock jested.

“It might.”

Tony suddenly appeared at Brock’s side, with Stephen in tow, their arms wrapped loosely around each other’s waists. 

“Tony? You too?” he queried.

“You bet. Stephen and I are competing this year with you. So you better watch your ass.”

Brock scoffed.

“I’ll wipe the floor with you.”

Tony gave him a sly smile in return at Brock’s playful banter, then dropped his hand from Stephen’s waist to pat Brock on the chest. Brock glanced down to see a shining silver band, before his gaze shot back up to stare at Tony, mouth agape.

“You guys got engaged!” 

“We did,” Stephen confirmed, with a smile.

More cheers sounded out around the group, as hugs were exchanged, along with the typical congratulations and well wishes. Brock was feeling tired before, but now with all of the news his friends had shared, his energy began to rise again. Although, there was always that question of how quickly it would fall, most likely quicker than he knew. 

“What ‘bout you Brock? Any news," Tony asked.

Because Tony had to ask, he just _had_ to, it stung to have to repeat himself again.

“Well-” Brock paused, abruptly. “...my brother got married. It was a big wedding, got to see some of the family I haven’t seen in awhile. My sister’s pregnant again...so there’s that. Other than that, nothing new with me,” he added, sounding somewhat choked up.

Tony placed his hand on Brock’s back to rub small circles on it. 

“Deep breathes hun." 

Brock sniffed and wiped under his eye with a quick swipe.

“Sorry, I’m bein’ ridiculous. I’m happy for all of you, I am...I just wish I had exciting news for you. My life seems dull compared to yours.”

Tony squeezed his shoulder. 

“Hey...stop saying that. You’re at the goddamn Olympics, this is your dream come true right? This is going to be a life changer. And who knows, maybe there’s more than just figure skating here for you." 

_He does have a point_ Brock thought to himself. This was another new adventure in his life, something exciting and for the one thing that he loved most, figure skating. 

“Don’t cry Brock, you’re going to go far, I know it," Tony assured him. 

Tony gave him a peck on the cheek, before reaching for Stephen’s hand.

“We’re going to find our luggage. We’ll catch up later at training?” he said.

Brock nodded.

“Wouldn’t miss it.”

After Stephen and Tony left, Brock jabbed his thumb over his shoulder, while picking up his duffel bag. 

“I should go wait for my luggage. You'll be at training right?” 

“I'm gonna’ be there to watch Bucky, so yeah,” Steve answered.

“I will be, gotta’ coach Nat and Thor,” Clint pointed out. 

Brock nodded slowly, then waved at the pair.

“See ya later.” 

He turned and started to meander over to the baggage carousel for his flight, where he noticed Sam standing, glancing down at his phone. 

“Hey Sam,” he greeted.

“Hey man, our luggage shouldn't be too long.” 

“Great, ‘cause I'm ready for a nap now,” Brock muttered.

“Hamish that bad huh?” Sam inquired.

Brock groaned.

“He is _so_ loud. I'm not sittin’ on the plane with him on the way home.”

Sam chuckled.

“I get it man. Bucky has a habit of grinding his teeth when he sleeps,” he sighed.

Brock grimaced at the thought, but would probably prefer Hamish over teeth grinding. 

“Maybe we should sit together on the plane.” 

Sam’s mouth twitched up.

“We should.” 

Suddenly, the alarm sounded and the light flashed, indicating that luggage was coming through, causing Brock to jump a little. He wasn't sure why he was so jumpy, most likely exhaustion, his sense of what was around him was fading a little, he really wanted to _sleep._ Brock watched as luggage started making its slow journey around the carousel, several being plucked away as they passed. But Brock decided to avert his attention to his phone for a moment, reading a reply from his sister, who was sending him pictures of his niece. 

Brock looked up, only for a split second, stopping short when he caught sight of someone near another carousel. He was tall, probably six foot two at least, with dark hair, a strong jaw covered with stubble and a prominent scar on his chin, that almost joined to his bottom lip. Brock's eyes lingered for a moment, even going so far as looking the man’s body up and down, his throat feeling amply dry. _No, no, absolutely not_ he told himself, directing himself to look back at the carousel. Which did nothing, as he stole another glance, taking plenty of time to study the other’s profile, a very nice profile in fact. 

“Earth to Brock!” 

“Huh?” Brock uttered.

“Man, you feelin’ okay? You look a little dazed,” Sam commented.

“Yeah, I'm fine, I um…was lookin’ at somethin’ that's all,” he mumbled.

Sam shot him a look of _‘you can't fool me’._

“Something, or _someone_ ,” he hummed.

Brock's cheeks flushed pink.

“No! I- _ugh_...just, who is that?” 

Sam followed where Brock was pointing, before the smirk on his face grew.

“That's Jack Rollins.” 

Brock's brow rose.

“The guy Hamish was talkin’ about on the plane?” 

Sam clucked his tongue.

“Sure is. Anyway, I brought _your_ dumbass your luggage because you were too busy ogling my new team captain.” 

“I _was_ not,” Brock grumbled, sounding mildly offended.

“Uh huh keep tellin’ yourself that man,” Sam scoffed.

“Oh my god I'm never gonna’ hear the end of this,” he said.

Sam shrugged.

“You do shit like that you'll hear ‘bout it for the entire Olympics,” he remarked.

His statement prompted a disgusted noise out of Brock. 

“Someone save me.” 

“Hey loverboy, your Prince Charming is walkin’ by,” Bucky interjected, reappearing at Brock's side.

“For god’s sake, I thought you'd be talkin’ to Thor for like three hours.” 

“He had to go, but he's _so_ humble and his husband Bruce is really shy but friendly. So now I'm here to bother you again. Sam told me I had to,” he drawled.

Brock glared at Sam.

“Did you text him to say I was lookin’ at Jack?” Brock hissed.

“I did, I didn't say lookin’ though, I said ogling, big difference,” Sam retorted.

With a disgruntled sigh, Brock folded his arms loosely over his chest, his eyes moving back to stare at the carousel. He found himself looking again when Jack walked past with some teammates, a big bag slung over his shoulder, and a smaller suitcase dragging behind him. As if on cue, Jack turned his head to the side, his eyes locking with Brock's for a brief moment. He flashed him a small grin, too gorgeous yet too intoxicating at the same time. If Brock could spontaneously combust he would, because he wasn't sure how he could handle both, it was too much. He didn't even know the guy, yet he felt so drawn to him already. _Who the hell are you Jack Rollins?_ he asked himself.

“Yeah he's a goner.” 

Sam laughed heartily.

“Oh man this is gonna’ be _good_.” 

Brock rolled his eyes.

“I swear to god, I just need a warm bed and sleep,” he sighed.

Bucky bumped his shoulder on Brock's. 

"Just a few more cases and we can go." 

Brock's phone buzzed for what felt like the fifteenth time, as he grabbed it, where a message from Hamish was waiting. 

**_Jack says he cannae wait tae meet ye_ **

_Fuck._ Brock exhaled slowly, then tucked his phone away, his palms feeling a little sweaty with nervousness. He knew he shouldn't be feeling this way, but something about meeting Jack had him panicking. Maybe it was because he didn't want to make a bad impression, he seemed like an incredibly nice guy, going by how Hamish talked about him. Brock was usually very well equipped at meeting new people, just...maybe not people he found stupidly good looking or anything. 

"Hey, ready to go man?" 

Brock pulled himself out of his thoughts to look over at Sam, who looked slightly concerned, but Brock masked his mood with a smile. 

"Yeah, yeah...let's go. I'm exhausted," Brock murmured. 

For now, he needed to keep his thoughts focused on the Olympics, _nothing_ was allowed to distract him.

_Not a damn thing._

* * *

As soon as Jack stepped inside the rink at the Olympic village, he felt like he was _home._ Ever since he began playing hockey as a kid, he always wanted to be at the rink, no matter what time it was. Hockey was what Jack lived and breathed, there never was anything else that ever interested him, the excitement of the sport was all he had. Now that he was at the Olympics, his love for hockey Jack only grew greater, especially with the team that he had. When he'd gotten the call that he was going to be captain of the Canadian team, he couldn't exactly believe it, for a moment he didn't want to believe it. 

The others were trailing closely behind him, talking excitedly, while Jack looked around for a place to sit. They didn't have practice until later in the day, so all of them decided to meet up and watch the figure skating practice. Jack had never really paid much attention to figure skating, all he knew was that hockey players and figure skaters differed greatly, although...that wasn't a _bad_ thing. He admired the grace and choreography put into figure skating, while also admiring the skill and ferocity of ice hockey. Sometimes he wondered if he would ever make a good figure skater, someone had said he would, but hockey took over his interests instead. 

"Hey Jack, slow down pal." 

Hamish sidled up beside him, before placing his hand on Jack's shoulder, his grip firm but warm. 

"We've got a row over here. Some lads from the team saved them for us. Ye haven't met them yet." 

Jack glanced down at the row, where two men were sitting close together, talking quietly to themselves. Hamish dropped his hand from his shoulder, as Jack walked down the last two steps and walked into the row, until he reached the pair. They both looked up at the same time, eyes widening when they saw Jack walking towards them. The first one scrambled to his feet, then kicked at the second one to follow, which he did. Jack could tell one of them was young, even with an impressive beard Jack would tell, simply by the awestruck look on their face. 

"G'day boys, I'm Jack Rollins," he greeted, as he held his hand out.

The one closest to him took Jack's hand firmly. 

"Hello." 

"Don't be nervous," Jack said.

"Sorry I...have been fan long time. So excited to play with you." 

Jack grinned at him. 

"What's your name, mate?"

"Sasha, Sasha Turgenev," he replied. 

"Nice to meet you." 

Sasha beamed, then stepped to the side, letting his friend greet Jack. 

" _Salut,_ my name is Henri Martel, pleasure to meet you." 

"French Canadian?" Jack asked. 

" _Oauis,_ from Quebec." 

Jack's smile didn't falter as he let go of Henri's hand, then stepped back a little.

"Have you met the rest of the team?" he inquired.

"Oh, yes. Sorry we couldn't make it to the get together with you. Sasha and I had a lot of things to organise at home," Henri answered.

Sasha nodded.

"We are roommates!" 

" _Oh my god, they were roommates,_ " Scott interjected.

Sam and Steve stifled their laughter, while Hamish clipped Scott on the ear and Jack rolled his eyes. 

"Ignore him. He's a goalie, he's a bit _energetic_." 

Henri glanced over at Scott and winked.

"Me too," he said.

Scott smiled widely.

"Sweet! Goalie buddies!" he chimed.

Henri laughed.

"Of course _mon ami_." 

"Alright, you pack of eejits. Time to sit down and watch some of the practice," Hamish ordered. 

Jack smiled gratefully at him, he generally became the one to keep everyone in line, even if Jack _was_ the captain. He'd connected very well with Hamish when they'd first met, and Jack felt like maybe someday Hamish could be his A, as he would love to keep him close by. In fact, he wanted to keep all of them close, Jack had a good feeling about their team, like there was a strong possibility of them winning gold. It had been one of his dreams for a long time, watching his favourite players nab gold in past Olympics, Jack desperately _wanted_ that. 

As they finally settled down into the seats, with Hamish on Jack's left and Henri on his right, Jack turned his attention to the ice for the first time since they'd gotten there. Several skaters were on the ice, most were goofing around, but there were others taking their practice seriously. Jack scanned his eyes further down the length of the rink, then stopped abruptly, just in time to see someone land a double axel and quickly move into a spin. He leaned forward slightly, before catching a glimpse of the man, recognising him immediately. All Jack can recall now is stunning hazel eyes staring at him in the airport when he walked past, or the way he'd kept gawking at him even after he'd smiled his way. 

"Hey." 

Jack bumped his knee against Hamish's, then pointed out to the ice.

"Who is that?" he inquired.

Hamish followed Jack's gaze.

"Who? Him? That's Brock, he's one of my pals. Him and Bucky, the one on his left, they're holdin' a wee get together later. Brock and I are goin' tae dinner in a few hours, but the party kicks in after that." 

"When have I ever turned down an invitation like that?" Jack scoffed. 

"It's just for a couple of bevvies. Nothin' big, we've got a load of stuff tae do the morra'," Hamish said. 

Jack smiled.

"Yeah, nah. Can't go too overboard, gotta' keep our heads clear." 

“You’ll like him,” he added.

Jack hummed and turned his attention back to Brock, who was gliding across the ice with grace, which was in stark contrast to how he would skate on the ice. Brock seemed to be following the rhythm of the music that was playing in the rink, Jack had heard of it before, electro-swing or something along those lines. It had a great beat, which was obvious by a few spectators around them who were tapping their fingers to the beat on chairs, or their feet on the floor. Jack didn't shift his gaze from Brock, too caught up in how he skated so effortlessly, almost like he was skating on clouds. When he launched himself into the air to complete a double axel, Jack let out the breath he was holding in, after Brock landed it perfectly. 

"Wow... _magnifique._ " 

Jack glanced over at Henri with a smile.

"Pretty good, hey?" 

"I would fall on my ass if I tried that," Henri said.

Jack's shoulders shook when he laughed. 

"Pretty sure a lot of us hockey players would do that," he replied. 

He looked back at the ice in time to see Brock move into a spin, unsure of what it was called, but amazed nonetheless. 

"I thought that voice sounded like yours." 

Jack's shoulders seized at the all too familiar voice, before he turned around and locked gazes with Grant Ward. He'd had the pleasure, or rather, the _displeasure_ of meeting him when he played for juniors in America. That'd been over eight years ago, he was eighteen at the time, now he was twenty seven. But no amount of years or time spent apart from Grant, could ever quell the dislike he had towards him. As if sensing his distress, Hamish sized Grant up, then stood up from his seat. 

"What the hell dae you want bud?" 

Grant smirked.

"Just wanted to talk to an old friend." 

Jack scoffed suddenly.

"That's fuckin' rich, mate," Jack muttered.

Hamish rested his hand on Jack's shoulder.

"Easy Jackie boy." 

"It's fine, we're just here to watch the show. Looks like you have your eye on someone already," Grant said.

Jack narrowed his eyes.

"You better shut the fuck up right now," he hissed.

Grant laughed along with the rest of team USA.

"Or what? How're you going to look if you go crazy at me? An Olympian? That would be embarrassing," he stated. 

Jack moved to stand up, but Hamish’s hand squeezed tighter on his shoulder, as he shook his head.

“Beat it, wouldn’t want anyone knowing the captain of the American team is an annoying wee pest. Imagine how that would look,” he warned.

Sasha snorted loudly from behind Hamish as Grant's mouth twitches downward. 

"Still have to get your friends to stand up for you. It's like juniors all over again. But fine, we'll get out of your hair. Guess I'll see you around, Jack." 

Jack glowered at Grant.

“Not likely.”

Grant simply shrugged in response, before following the rest of his team down the row, but not far enough for Jack to lose the tension in his shoulders. He could still hear them talking, Grant’s voice echoing over all of them, which was perfectly typical for him. Jack shook his head and averted his gaze over to rink, just at the precise moment that Brock decided to bend over to fix his skate laces. His throat bobbed as he swallowed thickly, eyes darting down briefly to look, noting the way Brock’s jeans were fitted _snug_ as if they were painted on.

"Now that's a nice view boys." 

Jack clenched his jaw as an uproar of laughter followed after Grant's comment, taunting him, while he kept focusing on Brock. He was skating again, but Jack didn't need eyes on the back of his head to know that Grant was tracking Brock's every move, like the irritating asshole he was. 

"I mean...they did give us free condoms for hookups," Grant uttered, his voice undoubtedly travelling in Jack's direction.

With a shaky breath, Jack stood up quickly, his hands clenched into fists until his knuckles were white. The anger boiled slowly inside him, but a strong hand pressed against his chest, clouding his thoughts of wanting to sock Grant in the jaw. 

"Jack...dinna fash yersel' wi' him," Hamish whispered. 

"I wasn't going to." 

Hamish dropped his hand.

"What were ye goin' tae do then?" 

"Move closer to the ice. I can't-" Jack paused, so he could take a breath. "...I can't listen to that bloody muppet anymore," he ground out.

"Want some company?" 

Jack unclenched his hands and smiled meekly at Hamish.

"Yeah mate, that'd be nice of ya." 

"'Mon then pal, I'm right behind ye," he assured him. 

The others stayed behind, which didn't bother Jack at all, so long as he got away from hearing Grant's unwanted comments. He knew a lot of people liked to hookup during the Olympics, some friends back home mentioned it once, plus some of the athletes were couples. Jack wasn't exactly interested in partaking in it, but, if the moment arose he'd consider it. Not that it was likely to happen, Jack didn't attract much attention to himself for someone to take interest, that's how it had always been. He had caught the attention of Brock though, at least...that's what he thought it was. Maybe he was reading too much into it, but the way Brock had stared at him in the arrivals section had been, well, _something._

"So...Sasha and Henri seem nice," Hamish spoke up, drawing Jack from his thoughts. 

Jack smirked. 

"You like 'em?" 

Hamish smiled somewhat shyly.

"Well, Sasha's like the rookie you want to protect like a wee brother. And Henri, well…" 

He trailed off whilst glancing back up at the group, which Jack followed, before his smirk widened.

"You've got the hots for him mate," he teased. 

Hamish whipped his head back and scowled, his cheeks flushed a light tinge of red. 

"Away and dinnae talk pish!" 

Jack laughed loudly. 

"I mean, he's gorgeous, I don't blame ya," Jack said.

"Aye, well, that's not what we're here for though, is it?" Hamish muttered. 

Jack's hand fell on the back of Hamish's neck, as he gave it a gentle squeeze.

"Listen Hames. You can focus on both hockey and other things, live a little. Get to know 'im, chances are you'll get along like a house on fire." 

Hamish breathed out a tired sigh. 

"Ye think?" he replied.

"You either take the leap and savour it, or you don’t take the leap and regret it." 

Hamish’s gaze lingered on Henri for a moment longer, before he looked back at Jack, a small grin playing on his lips.

“We’ll see…”

Suddenly, a boisterous laugh had Jack looking in Brock's direction, noticing him bent over laughing. Bucky was dancing, as well as singing loudly and off key, to the music blaring through the rink. Jack snorted upon realising it was ABBA, hearing Hamish hum along beside him, and the others from their group singing a few rows away from them. 

_"You are the dancing queen! You and sweet! Only seventeen!"_

When Jack stole a glance at Brock, he was dancing now, swaying and rolling his hips with as much finesse as he had on the ice. Jack wasn’t one to stare at people, he always found it rude, but Brock’s hip swaying was distracting enough to _not_ stare at.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer.”

He elbowed Hamish and laughed.

“Quit it,” Jack huffed out.

"I seem tae recall a certain someone said 'either take the leap and savour it, or you don’t take the leap and regret it'. Sound familiar?" Hamish retorted. 

Jack sighed in defeat.

"Hey Hames, y'know it's rude to not introduce me to your friends right?" 

Jack turned to the right to see Bucky approaching them with a huge smile on his face, immediately prompting Jack to hold his hand out to him.

"Hey, I'm Jack," he said, with a warm smile. 

Bucky grinned. 

"Hey! It's great to meet you. Sorry Brock didn't come over to say hi, he's just nervous about bein' here and wants to train his ass off." 

Hamish scoffed.

"Either that or he's just nervous tae meet Jack," he chided.

"Don't be an asshole, you know what he's like," Bucky griped. 

"He gets shy when he sees someone he likes." 

Bucky punched Hamish lightly in the arm. 

"He's shy in general!" 

While Bucky and Hamish continued to argue beside him, Jack searched for Brock, who came to a halt in the middle of the ice. He leaned on the edge of the boards, then gave Brock a small wave, plus a smile he hoped passed off as friendly. Brock smiled back immediately, then waved, before skating off again. Jack kept his eyes trained on him, watching every part of him move to get the acceleration he needed, as he completed a double lutz. _Show off_ Jack thought. It certainly was a little show put on for him, given that Brock would glance at him now and again, like he was gauging if Jack was impressed or not. 

Jack, well, he was _beyond_ impressed. No matter how many other people were there practicing the same jumps, or spins, Jack's eyes never swayed from Brock. Jack's sour mood about Grant started to eb away, replacing it with his genuine interest in the man in front of him. Part of Jack wished he could be out there with Brock, or that he would just come over and talk to him, even if only for a few minutes. There was the party, yet that was still hours away, Jack still had a tram meeting to hold before that. Maybe it would be a better setting at the party, but Jack was _itching_ to know him, to be _close_ to him. 

"Christ, I'm gonnae have tae pick his jaw up off the floor in a minute," Hamish bemoaned.

Jack's head thunked against the board as he let out a groan.

"You're never gonna' let me live this down mate." 

Hamish chuckled with delight.

"Not a chance. Yer stuck wi' me until we kick all these teams in the daddy bags and get that gold." 

Bucky almost howled with laughter, but muffled it with his hand.

"Everything you say is just so-" 

Hamish smirked proudly.

"Unique?" he replied.

"That's one word for it," Jack said.

"I better get back to Brock. It was nice meeting you Jack, I'll see you around," Bucky interjected. 

"You too!" he chimed. 

After Bucky departed, Hamish turned back to Jack, with his arms crossed loosely across his chest.

“So...are ye done ogling or can we go and have this team meeting so the lads can get to know each other a wee bit?” Hamish questioned.

As much as the thought of leaving disappointed Jack, he knew that team bonding was important, if not the very pinnacle of having a _good_ team. 

“Yeah alright. If we’re going to have any chance of snagging that gold, we need to be like each other’s uh…”

Hamish tilted his head.

“Breid and butter?” 

Jack made a face worth an Oscar nomination, but agreed nonetheless.

“If that’s how it has to be, then sure.”

An amused look washed over Hamish’s face.

“You look about as confused as every other poor bastard who meets me.”

“Maybe that’s why they like you so much, it intrigues ‘em to want to know more about you,” Jack reasoned.

“Aw, Jackie boy, I’m touched!” Hamish gushed. 

Jack laughed and swung his arm around Hamish’s shoulders, directing them away from the rink, as they meandered back to the group. Sasha was happily talking to Steve and Sam, while Henri seemed to be discussing goaltending tactics with Scott, as if they’d been friends for years. He wasn’t sure if they’d need much team bonding, it'd be easier to let that run its course. Nevertheless, there were important issues to go over, as well as handing everyone their jerseys, which Jack was looking forward to donning. 

"Alright guys, gather your shit. We've got jerseys to hand out!" he ordered.

Everyone was quick to follow Jack, gathering around him like he was some ethereal being, while Sam looked over at him, smiling widely. Besides Hamish, he was one of the teammates that Jack had clicked with quickly too, and he couldn't wait to see the look on Sam's face when an _A_ adorned his jersey. 

"Lead the way... _captain._ " 

So as Jack sidled up to him, Sam's hand clamped down on his shoulder, in a way that said _I've got your back...through everything._ And it made Jack feel right at home.

* * *

"What I want to know is how you found decent wine." 

Brock laughed and swirled the red wine around in his glass, before looking over at Bucky. 

"I have my ways," he answered.

Their welcome party was in full swing by the time Brock managed to get a drink or two down his neck. He felt buzzed already on the wine he'd had, or possibly from the beer he snuck in between, he needed to eat something soon else the alcohol would go straight for his head. Regardless of that fact, he was pleased that everyone was enjoying themselves, with groups of guests spread out through two rooms. Brock opened his and Bucky's room into Tony and Stephen's, keeping it less cramped, giving ease to those who wanted to mingle. 

He hadn't seen Jack show up at all, which was slightly disappointing, but Brock understood to an extent. He figured Jack might be more focused on being prepared for hockey, he seemed like the type who didn't mix business with pleasure, unless it was an off season or something. Brock could respect that, he admired anyone who took their professional career seriously, he was somewhat the same only he did make time for the finer things in life. Most of the time that was drinking wine, playing video games, working out or enjoying a quiet evening inside with his dog cuddling into his side. The thought of his dog, Jove, reminded him that he should check in with the dog sitter later. 

"You can't say that and not tell us _how!_ " 

Brock's attention was drawn to Bucky again, who only looked at him with sheer amusement, he knew too well when Brock was in his own thoughts. 

"I'm not tellin' you," Brock said.

"Oh come on man! Just a little wisdom," Sam spoke up. 

Brock chuckled softly.

"It's easy, you search the shelves way up at the back. That's where they keep most of the good stuff, at least, I know most liquor stores around my area do that. So, I found this beauty." 

Sam leaned back against the wall casually.

"And what's your favourite thing about it?" he asked.

"The colour." 

"The colour?" Bucky repeated. 

"There's a bloody echo in here," Hamish interjected. 

The group laughed in unison, before Brock held the glass up. 

"Not all flavourful wine is dark, some of it can be bright red. But it depends on what you like. I like the dark red tones to a wine, besides smell and taste, using your sight with wine is great too. This wine looks nice even if you spill it," Brock explained. 

Hamish grinned.

"Go on then lad, show us," he encouraged. 

One of Brock's brows ticked up, as a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. He knew there was a table close by with white cloth on it, it was a perfect blank canvas to use, especially for wine. 

"Watch and appreciate," he replied.

With another wild smile on his face, Brock threw some of the wine out beside him, only to see horror spread across his friend's faces. Brock's smile dropped immediately, as Bucky covered his mouth with his hand, his eyes widening in shock. 

"What?" 

Hamish coughed loudly, trying to hide an obvious laugh, before straightening himself up.

"Hiya Jack…"

Brock made a noise that was something between a gasp and a yelp, as he spun himself around and made eye contact with Jack. He was wearing his team Canada jacket, which was now covered in red wine, the white patches showing off most of it. Jack's face was unreadable, but Brock felt an ounce of dread sit in the pit of his stomach, before his cheeks flared with heat. Here he was thinking Jack was a no show, and when he did appear to show, Brock had gone and fucked up their first meeting. 

"Fuck, I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to I-" 

His rambling was cut off by a boisterous peel of laughter, from _Jack_ no less, who looked almost on the verge of tears. Hamish couldn't hold it in any longer, deciding to laugh along with him, and before Brock knew it...the entire social circle was in _fits._

"Trust you tae bring some more life into this party eh Brock?" 

"You were lookin' a bit like a stunned mullet there," Jack commented. 

It may have been somewhat true, because Brock couldn't stop staring at Jack, even if he tried not to. He doesn't necessarily admit that he loves green eyes, ever, but Jack's are really something else. If he moves the slightest bit then the light will catch differently, and suddenly his eyes have a shade of blue to them. Brock likes the moss green tone to them, moss in general isn't appealing, however Jack's are bright and well... _beautiful._

"I swear I didn't know you were behind me!" Brock protested.

Jack smiled warmly.

"Hey, no worries mate, shit happens," he said. 

Tony sighed and rolled his eyes, while he ran his hand down his face.

"What Brock means to say is, please let me help you clean that up in the other room for my clumsiness. Right, Brock?" he hummed.

Brock glared at Tony.

“What the fuck are you doin’?” he hissed.

Yet he knew perfectly well what Tony was doing, he’s playing wingman, given that Brock’s stupidly obvious when he’s interested in someone. He really needed to learn how to keep it subtle, Jack was far too good for him, and that’s what kept getting repeated inside his head. On the other hand, it would be rude of him to refuse, Jack was a guest afterall. 

“I always believe in a second first impression. So _go,_ ” Tony whispered.

_He may be right_ Brock thinks, as he puts his half empty glass of wine down, then gestures to the bathroom. Jack followed him closely, looming over Brock, not in a weird way but enough to make Brock’s stomach flip. He allowed Jack to walk into the bathroom first, before stepping in after him, blocking the noise of the party out by closing the door. It’s then that Brock realises these bathrooms are only designed for one person at a time, depending on the person though, since he and Bucky can fit in no problem. Jack’s tall and muscular, not quite as muscular as Hamish because he could crush someone with his biceps, he does take up most of the room though. Whereas Brock, he keeps fit, however he has to have a balance when it comes to figure skating or it’ll throw off the strength he needs for it. 

Not only that, Jack’s body is radiating with warmth, and suddenly the room gets incredibly stuffy. So Brock decides to leave the door open a crack, just to stop himself feeling so caged, not that he would complain about being stuck with Jack at all. Brock shook his head, then looked up at Jack, who was smiling back at him. It was a kind smile, enough to make Brock’s cheeks flush a little, which only made him want to make a run for it again. He’s never felt this awestruck by someone before, never had this type of response, it’s new and it’s kind of terrifying. And he doesn’t realise he’s starting to panic, until Jack’s hands are on his shoulders, his eyes roaming over him with concern.

“Are you right?”

Brock took a few deep breaths to calm his nerves.

“Yeah, sorry. I’m just...I didn’t realise how small these bathrooms were until now.”

Jack grinned widely.

“First time?” 

A snort sounded out in the room as Brock averted his gaze for a minute.

“It is. I’m guessing you’ve been here before?”

“Years ago, at the youth hockey Olympics. So, I know how small these bathrooms can get,” Jack answered.

“They are a little snug,” Brock stated.

“Well, they aren’t too bad with the right company,” he said, while giving Brock a _lingering_ once over.

Brock’s throat bobbed as he swallowed around the lump in his throat.

“Um...we should-” he paused, before glancing down at the wine stain on Jack’s clothes.

"Ah yeah, right...thing is I'm not wearin' anything underneath." 

Brock's eyes widened.

"What!" 

Jack's laughter echoed in the bathroom, although not loud enough to be over the music or conversing outside of the room. 

"I'm pullin' ya' leg mate. I've got somethin' else on." 

"Oh thank god. I mean not that I wouldn't like to see you without a shirt on, I'm sure your body is bangin' but- _oh…_ "

He's suddenly distracted by the way Jack peels the jacket off with ease, the Henley underneath riding up a little to reveal some bare skin, which had Brock's mind racing. Jack's got a slight V on his hips, and Brock was tempted to reach out to touch, but thought better. He barely knows Jack, he'd look like some freak who likes touching the bodies of strangers, that's not who he is. They may have been subtly flirting, yet that was not permission to do as he pleased. 

"So…" Jack started. "...I don't think we've met, properly, I mean," he finished. 

"I'm never gonna' hear the end of this from my friends," Brock groaned. 

"Think of it as a good story to tell when someone asks how we met." 

"Oh for sure, great story to tell my parents," he said. 

"Hey slow down there possum, we haven't gotten that far yet." 

Brock stared back at Jack in confusion. 

"Possum?" 

"You don't like it?" Jack questioned.

"Just...why _possum?_ " 

"It's kinda' like an endearment in Australia. Also possums are small, cute marsupials," he explained. 

"I'm not _cute,_ " Brock admonished. 

"But you are small." 

"Hey! Fuck you!" he laughed. 

Jack smirked, before he folded the jacket up neatly, his gaze never leaving Brock's. 

"I don't think this'll clean by washin' it in the sink. Fancy a beer? Or are ya' stickin' to wine?" 

Brock shook his head.

"I think I'll stay away from the rest of the wine. A beer would be great though." 

"C'mon then, champ, lead the way," Jack hummed. 

“You sure like to address people with nicknames.”

Jack shrugged as they exited the bathroom.

“It’s how I grew up,” he said.

“Where’d you grow up?” Brock inquired.

When they reached the fridge stocked with beer, Jack grabbed two and popped the caps off, then handed one to Brock. They moved to a quieter corner of the room, one where not so many people were milling around, but also where the music wasn’t so intrusive.

"I was born in Sydney, but then I moved around a lot growin' up. We settled in Melbourne for awhile when I was twelve. My parents, Jason and Eryk wanted to support me when I started playing hockey." 

Brock leaned back against the wall.

"Oh, they-" he paused, to allow Jack to continue. 

"Adopted me, yeah. I don't know my birth parents, but none of that matters when I've got Jason and Eryk," Jack replied. 

"My parents got divorced when I was twenty, then my dad met my step-dad, Colin. I still talk to my mom, but she's never been interested in me being a figure skater. She wanted me to be a lawyer or something." 

Jack scoffed.

"Some parents don't bloody get it," he muttered. 

"You can say that again." 

They fell into a comfortable silence for a few minutes, drinking and watching guests meander around them. Brock swore he felt Jack's shoulder brush his own, more than once, but he doesn't want to chance a glance his way. Soon enough the lack of conversation itched at Brock's skin, he had a good feeling about jack, and wanted to get to know him better. 

"So, Jack, hockey huh? What position do you play?" he asked. 

"I play centre. I love being at that face-off circle, staring down your opponent, just... _waiting._ " 

"I thought you'd maybe be a winger or on defense, you're tall and look like you could pound a few guys into the ice," Brock said. 

"I prefer a soft mattress for that." 

Brock cringed upon realising how poorly he'd phrased his comment. 

"Sorry, holy shit, I need to engage my brain first." 

Jack grinned coyly and Brock kicked his foot gently. 

"You dick. You knew what I meant but said that anyway." 

Jack laughed.

“As much as I’d loved to have played defense, I liked the idea of being centre. It lets me create opportunities for a winger to get in and take a shot. You really click with a winger that way, you know that they’re always going to be _there_ ,” he explained.

Brock’s eyes softened at the thought, he wondered if that’s how Tony and Stephen felt when figure skating together, like they were an anchor for each other. Some part of him wished he had that, on the ice, but also off the ice as well. He’s too caught up in these thoughts to notice that Jack’s taken his arm, and is guiding him over to a couch, the touch feeling a little bit intimate. When they sat down, his arm moved to rest over the back of the couch, as Brock sunk back into the cushion. 

“You looked a little in thought there,” Jack hummed.

“Just thinkin’ it’d be nice to feel that connection with someone,” Brock responded.

“You and Bucky don’t skate together?”

Brock shook his head.

"I've gotten so used to skatin' in singles that the thought of switchin' to couples figure skating is... _daunting_ ," he admitted.

"I'd have a fear of droppin' my partner. Or fuckin' up a spin I-" 

Jack's gaze settled on Brock, staring at him with fondness in his eyes, but also a small flicker of shyness. Brock found it stupidly charming, he liked a shy guy, so Jack seemed like the quiet type who would sit back and observe. 

"Go on."

"I watched you skating earlier today, we waved at each other. You're amazin' on the ice. I don't want this to sound weird, but I couldn't take my eyes off you. It's so different to how hockey is. You're all grace like a swan wadin' in a lake, and I'm like someone tryin' to escape a croc's territory or somethin'," Jack chuckled.

Brock beamed.

"That's a great way of putting it." 

Jack averted his gaze and played with the label on his beer.

"Yeah, well, just thought you should know I was payin' attention to ya'," he murmured.

Brock's hand came up, before he decided to rest it on Jack's knee, figuring it wouldn't look too forward if he did.

"Thanks Jack, I appreciate it, big guy," he drawled, giving Jack's knee a squeeze.

"No dramas. I'll try to come and see ya' as much as I can." 

Another smile graced Brock's face, as he dropped his hand back onto his own lap.

"I'd like that, " Brock replied. 

It was easy for him to talk to Jack, which surprised him, to say the least. He'd been nervous as hell to meet him, only to have _this_ happen, a familiarity of sorts that sparked the possibility of a friendship. Brock liked the thought of that, whatever it would become, although he couldn't deny the bout of attraction he felt towards Jack either in that moment. 

"Hey, you wanna' dance?" 

It’s then that Brock realised the entire atmosphere of the party had changed, the music switched to a popular club song, and bodies moving around to find space to dance in the room. He hadn’t danced in a long time, figure skating was completely different to dancing, but he knew his left foot from his right. The idea of dancing Jack was making him overthink too much. _It’s just a dance you moron_ he says to himself.

“Brock? You alright?” Jack queried, with his hand placed comfortingly on Brock’s knee now.

"I know I skate, but I'm actually a terrible dancer." 

Jack tilted his head at him and gave him a disbelieving look.

"Come on. I bet I'm worse, I'll make a dick of myself first before anyone tries to talk shit about ya'," he reasoned.

Brock chuckled.

"Aw jeez Jackie, consider me charmed." 

Jack's flashed a smile at him, all gleaming teeth, with a slice of amorousness to it. 

"Jackie ay? I kinda' like that." 

With a grin and a sudden boost of confidence, Brock placed his beer to the side, then plucked Jack's out of his hand too. He stood up, then offered his hand to Jack, his body language relaxed rather than rigid. 

"We dancin' or what?"

Jack took his hand, before Brock hoisted him up, then searched for a free space to dance together. Brock was already feeling the beat as they made their way over, his hips swaying leisurely, which Jack stole a glance at. Both of them were feeling that _buzz,_ that _high_ , leaving their endorphins racing. Brock turned to face Jack and started dancing freely, but kept his eyes focused on Jack. He had to bite back a laugh, because Jack looked awkward, like a limp noodle almost. 

"Told ya' I'd make a dick of myself." 

Brock smirked, as he moved closer to Jack.

"Relax big guy, feel the beat. You can hold onto me if it makes you feel comfortable" he offered.

Jack's eyes darkened a little. 

"You seem chilled out now." 

"You're easy...to talk to I mean," Brock said.

It was then that Jack slid his arm around Brock's waist, then pulled him impossibly closer, leaning in close to Brock's ear. 

"That's one of many things," he whispered.

Brock swallowed thickly, his throat feeling dry, as he tried to form the appropriate words to say in response. Instead, he placed one hand on Jack's bicep, while the other slipped around the back of his neck. He was unsure what this would be with Jack, regardless of that, Brock was glad to have gotten the chance to talk to him anyway. There was supposed to be no distractions while he was here, but now, Brock was finding it impossibly hard to not want to mix a little pleasure over personal endeavours. However, there was still some sliver of doubt, that maybe this was simply a one off. 

"Stop talkin' and dance with me, Jackie…" he uttered, whilst running his hand up and down Jack's arm. 

They continued to dance throughout the night, taking breaks whenever they could, and reveling in memories about their lives. At some point Brock went to mingle with others, as did Jack. But through the remainder of the evening, Jack and Brock found their way back to each other, diving straight back into their previous conversations. Eventually, the party started to wind down, with only a select few guests still lingering back. Brock was the one ushering most of them out his room, with Hamish singing horribly off key to Gaelic songs, his words slightly slurred. 

He knew there was no way that Hamish was making it back to his room, given that the hockey player ones were halfway across the village. Not that it mattered, because Bucky had decided he was going back to Steve's room, which was to be expected. Brock didn't think he'd really have Bucky as a 'roommate', it was the unfortunate con of having a best friend who wasn't single. Not that Brock hated the company of drunk Hamish, but he was currently taking up half of Brock's bed, still singing away happily. 

"Hey, I'm gonna' head out," Jack announced, as he sidled up to Brock's side. 

Brock moved away from the open door to face him.

"Oh. No problem, Jack. Thanks for comin', it was good to meet you finally." 

Jack smiled lopsidedly. 

"I had a _great_ time. Cheers for invitin' me." 

Brock smiled back.

"You gonna' be able to get back okay?" 

Jack's body swayed a little, but he kept himself upright. 

"Yeah, all good bud. Not sure about Hamish though, ay." 

Brock elicited a snort.

"Probably best if he stays here until tomorrow," he said.

"I'll collect him in the mornin'," Jack replied. 

"Whenever you want, I'll be here to hand him over," Brock chimed. 

A beat passed, before Jack took a step closer to Brock, his hand coming up to cup his cheek. Brock's heart started hammering against his chest, as their gazes met, the dull hum of music being the only ambience in the background. But when Jack leaned forward, he pressed a soft kiss to Brock's forehead only, while Brock felt the air _whoosh_ out of his lungs quickly. He wasn't disappointed, in fact, he was thankful that it was only that. Although, even then, the soft feeling of Jack's lips on his forehead had Brock's cheeks heating up anyway. They were both too full of alcohol, adrenaline and high spirits to make any big decisions right now. _Whatever happens, happens_ , his nonna used to say in soft murmurs of Italian. 

"Catch ya' later, possum," he drawled. 

Once Jack was gone from his view, Brock walked back into the room and closed the door behind him. 

"Do I hear wedding bells afoot?" Hamish asked.

Brock tossed his shoe at Hamish. 

"Ow, ye absolute bastard," he winced. 

"We just met Hames." 

Hamish smirked sluggishly. 

"Love knows no bounds, lad." 

A sigh escaped from Brock. 

"Save it Shakespeare." 

Hamish laughed tiredly.

"Fuck off." 

Silence swept through the room, as Hamish turned onto his side, his head propped up on his elbow. 

"Ye like him though, aye?" he questioned.

Brock kicked his other shoe off.

"Yeah, he's nice. Thanks for tellin' him to come along," he mumbled. 

"I knew you two would hit it off," Hamish sighed. 

"Don't even start. Or I'll make you sleep outside," Brock threatened.

Hamish huffed out a disapproving noise. 

"Fine, I'll shut my mouth. Now get over here and give us a cuddle." 

Brock shook his head with a tired laugh following after.

“Gimme a minute.”

He disappeared into the bathroom to change, brush his teeth and rub some moisturiser on his face. Brock brought the moisturiser out with him, then smeared some across Hamish’s face, who made a protesting noise. 

“What the fuck is that?” 

Brock tutted at him.

“Moisturiser, idiot.”

“Oh, well then yes please,” Hamish said, turning his head back to get it rubbed into his skin.

“Used to get laughed at for using this stuff,” Brock groused.

Hamish frowned.

“Aye, and I bet their skin looks like a saggy bawsack by now,” he sniped.

A peel of laughter was Brock’s response.

“Maybe. It makes me feel relaxed, it’s why I do it,” he added.

Hamish grinned, then took the moisturiser from Brock’s hand, before tossing it to the side. He pulled Brock down and wrapped his arms around him, as he cuddled in close to his chest. 

“Ye do whatever makes ye feel happy babe.”

Brock gently stroked his hands through Hamish’s hair.

“Are you hittin’ it off with Henri then?” 

Hamish chuckled.

“We talked. He’s a stunner eh?”

Brock nodded.

“Sure Hames, he’s real sweet too.”

“Aye...the absolute man of my dreams,” Hamish hummed groggily.

“You are _so_ drunk,” Brock scoffed.

“Am not!” he protested.

Brock’s arms tightened around Hamish.

“Go to sleep, or we’ll be late for breakfast in the morning,” he said.

While Hamish slowly submitted to his tiredness, Brock pulled his phone from his pocket, after hearing it chime when he was talking to Hamish. He glanced at the screen to see Jack’s name on it, vaguely remembering that he had in fact... _given Jack his number._

**_Breakfast on me tomorrow possum, bring the rest of the crew :)_ **

Brock smiled stupidly, typed a quick response, then put his phone to the side. He tucked his face into the disheveled mess of Hamish’s hair and sighed deeply. His head was swimming with the events of what happened in the space of twenty-four hours, too much for him to process, but also enough to keep him eager for the next day. Soon enough, the exhaustion overtook Brock as allowed his eyes to fall closed and his body to succumb to the promise of a restful sleep.


End file.
